A sudden blow to the side of his head sent Bostiff toppling over onto his back. He shook his head to try and clear it but his vision remained blurred for several seconds and his ears. When his eyes cleared, he saw a familiar figure standing above him, a glowing yellow dagger held in a gloved hand.
It was the Peregrine, the Atlanta-based vigilante who had crossed paths with Doctor Satan during the Bleeding Hells affair. The Peregrine was a tall, athletic man in his early forties, with wavy black hair and a Mediterranean tint to his skin. He wore a long coat that flapped in the breeze over a well-tailored suit and tie. His famous bird-like mask helped hide the truth from the world: that he was actually well-known socialite Max Davies.
The Peregrine knelt at the side of the legless monster and brandished his blade a bit closer to the villain’s face. “Where’s Satan? Tell me and I swear that I won’t hurt you.”
Bostiff spat in the Peregrine’s face, the phlegm landing with a sickening
sploot
on Max’s right cheek.
The Peregrine sighed and wiped away the disgusting fluid with the back of a glove. “Okay. We’ll play it your way, then.” Max shot out an arm and spread his fingers over Bostiff’s eyes and forehead. The villain thrashed about, reaching up with his powerful arms to try and pry away the Peregrine’s grip. Unfortunately for him, the Peregrine had already called upon the mental powers he possessed. Max had gotten remarkably better at this sort of thing since he’d undertaken specialized training a few months ago and the Peregrine was increasingly willing to employ his special gifts of telepathy and telekinesis in his war on crime. The use of such left him fatigued, however, so he never planned to use them wastefully.
Plus, touching minds with the likes of Bostiff was distasteful to say the least.
Max saw a rush of images, most of which he tried to brush aside as quickly as possible: a litany of sins, both real and imagined, filled much of Bostiff’s mental space. Max felt his stomach churn as he saw countless lives ruined by Doctor Satan and his henchmen. Satan had killed Leopold Grace, one of Max’s best friends… an act that had led to the Peregrine swearing to bring the murderer to justice.
The Peregrine zeroed in on the things that had brought him to London: the series of odd murders, all centering around employees of Bane Industries. Max had learned through his connections in law enforcement that Bostiff and Girse had been seen at several of the murder scenes. He’d followed them to England, knowing that their demonic master couldn’t be far away.
The Peregrine caught sight of his quarry, now: he saw Doctor Satan, looking as evil as his namesake in blood-red clothing and a long, flowing cloak. A horned hood was drawn up, hiding the villain’s true features from the world. Satan was speaking to Bostiff in the legless crook’s memory, speaking with the same derision that he always used when addressing his underlings:
“Bane is up to something… something that I can use, if I can find out all the details. Here’s a list of men and women who know about the Un-Earth project. Find them—make them talk! And if they won’t give you the information we need, kill them!”
The images faded, replaced by ones of Bostiff and Girse confronting the people on the list. They received virtually no information, other than confirmation that something “big” was happening with whatever this Un-Earth was. Max saw them finally getting the name from a higher-ranking exec: Lamar Bane. Doctor Satan had paid a visit to the man’s home, only to find it empty and showing no signs of having been occupied in recent times.
Bostiff and Girse had been sent to the warehouse with orders to wait for Satan’s arrival… but Max knew with dread certainty that Satan would never come here now. Somehow, he would sense what had happened to his henchmen.
Pulling away mentally, the Peregrine continued to hold Bostiff in place. The legless villain had ceased struggling now, having been pushed into submission by the power of Max’s mind. The Peregrine pulled off the glove of his right hand and revealed a signet ring, a blood-red stone on its surface. The stone bore the image of a bird in flight and it glowed as it neared Bostiff’s forehead. The thug seemed to awaken as it touched his skin, the smell of burning flesh filling his nostrils. He screamed as the mystic stone branded him for life. Before he passed out from the agony, Bostiff heard the Peregrine muttering words that had become feared throughout the underworld:
When the good is swallowed by the dark, there the Peregrine shall plant his Mark!
When the deed was done, Max stood up and pulled his glove back into place. He heard Evelyn approaching and turned to face her. “Girse?”
“Out cold,” she answered, flexing her left wrist. “He’s got a hard head,” she pouted.
Max laughed and brought her injured hand to his lips. After a brief kiss, he gestured towards his own car, parked just out of sight. “We’d better get out of her. I’ll summon the police for these two.”
“Did you find out where Satan might be?”
“No… but I was right. It all ties in to something Bane Industries is up to. And I did get one new clue from Bostiff. Satan wants something called ‘the Un-Earth.’”
“What is
that
?” Evelyn wondered.
“No clue,” Max replied with a sigh. “But whatever it is… we can’t let Satan have it.”
CHAPTER III
Other Worlds, Other Lives
1936, Boscastle Beach
“The water’s awful. Frigid!” Claire ran towards Nathaniel, shaking out her long brown hair before collapsing onto the towel next to him. The weather was nice today, with temperatures soaring into the upper 60s Fahrenheit. It gave Claire a nice excuse to reveal her lithe young figure in the new swimsuit she’d bought last fall—and Nathaniel was glad of it. She was gorgeous, with her every move sending little tingles of excitement through him.
“Yes… I can see that it’s a bit nipply. I mean nippy,” he laughed.
“You crass little pervert,” Claire replied, though her eyes revealed that she found his teasing to be more flirty than insulting. “You would notice that, wouldn’t you? Can’t keep your eyes on anything else.”
“Not true.” He rolled over onto his side, putting one arm around her waist. His somewhat long hair fell into his face, just the way she liked. “I also like your bum.”
“Cad.”
“You love it.”
“I think you’re horrid.”
They kissed… and for one long, wet moment, everything was fine with the world.
And then insanity took over.
The ground shook as an impact rattled all the beachgoers. Nathaniel grabbed Claire and pulled her closer, opening his eyes to see a blue-skinned brute dressed like a schoolboy pulling himself out of a massive hole. “We’re in serious trouble, luv,” he whispered.
The madman known as Tweedledum glanced around, his eyes twinkling. He caught sight of Nathaniel and Claire, who were nearest to him, and his beefy hand shot out at amazing speed. He gripped Claire about the ankle and hefted her right out of Nathaniel’s grasp. “Oi! Oi!” he cackled, his misshapen teeth flashing in the sun.
Nathaniel tried to scream but he found that his voice produced no sounds. He struggled to his feet, staring mutely at the villain before him. Tweedledum was whipping her about in what would have been a comical fashion, if it hadn’t involved the mutilation of the woman he loved. Her head banged against the beach repeatedly, smearing her features in a bloody mess.
“You murdering scum!” someone yelled from above, drawing the attentions of both Nathaniel and Tweedledum. Nat slumped back to the ground, his eyes wavering back and forth from the brightly clad figure coming from the sky and the disfigured body of his lover. Her hands were twitching, opening and closing spastically.
She’s dead,
he thought.
She has to be. Nobody could live through that.
Dan Daring, massive and brave, rammed straight into the body of his old foe, knocking Claire from his grasp. She landed like a limp little doll, her arms and legs splaying about in an unnatural way. The rich man’s hero, Daring didn’t even bother to check on her before launching into a powerful assault on his opponent. Daring was a genius at gadgetry, having invented the rocketpack that rested on his back even now. He wore brown leathers, the front pocket of his uniform emblazoned with his own trademarked symbol—interlocking D’s. He’d become a media darling in his few years of service to the British people, becoming their own version of the heroes whose exploits dominated the papers and newsreels in the United States, with flamboyant names like Prof. Stone, the Peregrine and the Black Bat.
Nathaniel crawled towards Claire and brought her into his arms, ignoring the fight going on around him. His tears fell warm and salty against her flesh and he felt the unsettling shift of her bones beneath his hands. She felt… broken, as if her skin was now just a bag holding shattered components.
How long he sat there, holding her against him, he didn’t know. He knew she wasn’t breathing, knew she was beyond hope… but he couldn’t quite bring himself to let her go. The mere act of releasing her seemed too final.
“Mate… I’m sorry I didn’t get here sooner.”
Nathaniel looked up to see Dan Daring staring down at him. The big man seemed uncertain of how to behave, shifting uneasily from foot to foot. Daring was a larger than life figure in the flesh, his dimpled chin, clean cut blond hair and dazzling blue eyes making him look like a matinee figure.
Nathaniel noticed that the hero avoided looking at Claire. “I’m not your mate. Not now. Not ever.” He looked up at Daring then, his eyes full of fury. “You and your kind killed her. You sodding bastards. You just killed her!”
* * *
1942
“He was a clean bloke, you have to give him that.” Charlie walked through Neville’s office, running a hand over a couple of sculptures. They were expensive and far nicer than anything that a police officer would be able to afford.
“Superficially, I suppose. But he wasn’t so clean on the inside.” Nathaniel flipped through file folders, scanning the contents of each envelope. Most of them contained invoices or memos, unrelated to the prey that he was truly hoping to find.
“May I ask where in the hell you get off barging in here like this?”
Both men turned to see a woman standing with arms crossed in the doorway to Neville’s office. She was an attractive woman in her mid-thirties, with strawberry blonde hair and a trim figure.
“Ms. Sherrilyn McLemore, I presume?” Charlie asked, offering up his brightest smile. He’d seen McLemore on the cover of
UK Business
and had taken quite a fancy to her. She was one of the few women in England who was considered the equal of any man when it came to the actions taken in a Board room. Nathaniel resisted the urge to grin as his friend ran a hand through his sparse head of hair.
If Sherrilyn noticed the adoration in Charlie’s eyes, she gave no indication of it. Her icy glare never wavered. “I thought you were here to investigate a suicide, not perform a check on our business records.”
“He threw himself out his office window. Makes sense that his death might be related to his business dealings,” Nathaniel responded.
“That’s fine, Inspector… but I would have liked to have known you were coming in here. Many of the files here are private, with information related to our many contacts and consumers.”
Nathaniel sighed, resisting the urge to lash out at her. Following a communion with the dead, he frequently felt lethargic and short-tempered. “Mr. Burke had no family to speak of… Did he ever mention to anyone here that he was feeling stressed? Suicidal?”
“Mr. Burke kept his personal affairs to himself. As do we all. Bane prides itself on maintaining a business-like atmosphere at all times.”
Nathaniel nodded, casting his eyes about the office. The images he’d gotten from Neville had been so profound that he’d had trouble making sense of them all. Some of them, in fact, seemed more like fantasy than reality. Another world… a woman in torment… it was like a sick work of fiction. But Neville had believed them.
And so did Nathaniel.
“I understand that,” he said, “but surely someone would have noticed if he’d been under the weather? Was he working on any stressful accounts, for instance?”
“We’re an international company, one whose worth and importance has only increased with the current war. Everyday is stressful, in its own way. But Bane only hires the best and brightest, Inspector. That’s the way we do things. We handle them.”
“Best and brightest… That’s right,” Nathaniel said, snapping his fingers as if the pieces were falling into place. Beside him, Charlie watched in admiration. He loved watching Nat work. “You people were tied in with that whole Bloodwerks group, weren’t you? Nasty bit of business, that.”
Charlie tried to hide the wince that suddenly came to his eyes. The Bloodwerks affair was something that had been mostly kept out of the newspapers. It had involved several businesses which had turned out to be fronts for a cult more interested in demon worship and human sacrifice than the services they had allegedly been offering. Bane had turned out to have several ties to the group, in terms of shared members of both organizations. The affair had been hushed up considerably but rumors had reached the general populace—not that it had slowed Bane’s progress any.
McLemore’s eyes hardened even more as Nathaniel was speaking. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Mr. Caine. I’m not certain I appreciate the insinuations you’re making.”
“I didn’t realize I’d insinuated anything… I was just wondering aloud. Do you think that black magic could have played a part in Mr. Burke’s demise?”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Don’t be evasive.”
Charlie cleared his throat, stepping between the two of them. “Perhaps we best be off for now, Nat. We can always come back later on.”
“You’re right, of course.” Nat flashed a cold smile at McLemore. “I trust you’ll be available later on?”
“I don’t plan to leave London, if that’s what you’re worried about, Mr. Caine.”
“Good show.” Nathaniel stepped out of the office, Charlie at his right. Lowering his voice, he said “I got what we needed… Her mind was like a steel trap, though. It’s so much easier when I can touch them… I barely managed to grab the bit of info I was looking for.”